


Summer Ice Cream

by Doctorinblue



Series: Why Am I Like This? [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: I'm so sorry, M/M, Sexual Humor, bad on porpoise, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:39:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorinblue/pseuds/Doctorinblue
Summary: Well....these are words. You should read them if you like words.





	Summer Ice Cream

Hawkeye gently pulls BJ into the supply shed, his heart pounding like a jack hammer....or something equally hammery. It feels as though it's rattling pieces of him loose, but he's already lost so much of himself to Korea he figures he can handle a little more. He'd crumble to dust for BJ anyway.

The door closes with a creak that's surely loud enough to wake the entire camp, but he's not entirely against an audience. It's dark and dusty - so exactly as he always imagined his first time with BJ.

"Hawk?" BJ whispers as if he's afraid of waking the camp, too.

Or afraid that Hot Lips and Frank are already tucked into a corner. Hawkeye might be into a four-way, but he could ask for a better choice of partners.

 _Focus_ , he reminds himself. 

There's a hot hunk of man in front of him, and it's not just because of the summer air. Though he has soaked his shirt, and probably should have showered before he pulled BJ from his bunk and lead him past Klinger's guard (though Klinger probably wouldn't bat an eye) and into the shed.

Hawkeye lets out a breath, like a steam engine. He should ask, right? He wants to know BJ wants this too. He wants to be sure, but his mouth is dry as if he's been stuffing Korean dirt in by the handful and his throat feels tight and narrow. He runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth a few times to loosen it up. The ridge always feels so nice. Like a mouthing peak.

"BJ," he says, taking his hand again 

They're both sweating, palm puddles coming together to form a palm ocean. It's both disgusting and romantic. He tucks them into the back corner, pulls BJ down onto the pre-placed cot. Probably it's already had a lot of use, but Hawkeye chooses not to think about life's stains and pushes onward.

"Hawkeye," BJ says, his exhale hot against Hawkeye's cheek and eye. Mostly eyes, actually. BJ is very close, breathing the moisture out of Hawkeye's eyes.

Hawkeye blinks rapidly. Somehow the dry eyes make him love him more. 

"BJ," Hawkeye says. "I'd really like to kiss you."

"I'd really like you too," BJ says. "I already told Peg. She says we can keep you."

Hawkeye lets out a breath. His inner goddess has learned to tango, partnered up with his heart to sweep the dance floor of his stomach.

He feels butterflies. Or birds. Something large and angry is flapping away inside him and it might be the three-day leftover spam sandwich he ate (actually that seems fairly likely) but he's going to blame love.  
Another hot exhale hits his eyeballs, but BJ is close enough to kiss. Blood rushes down from Hawkeye's head, leaving him swooning (get the smelling salts, Beej) and filling up his meat rod until it's throbbing. He's throbbing. Throbbing and wanting.

He leans in slowly. His lips touch...well, nose, actually. Look, it's hardly his fault. It's really dark. Hawkeye smacks his lips. Salty. Like a nose ocean. Like that spam sandwich.

Bj chuckles, the noise coming from deep inside that manly chest. Hawkeye reaches out, his fingers running over it. Down it. BJ sucks in like a vacuum, but Hawkeye's fingers continue their trot to his crotch. He hasn't even kissed him yet, but in his mind, he's already pounded him into the cot. Hell, right through the cot, through the dirt and far enough they wind up in Mill Valley. Or somewhere in Montana. He hardly cares. 

His groin tightens, and his inner goddess is doing cartwheels when his fingers meet material. Bj is hard. Hot. Well, it is summer. Still. His pant weasel is ready to pop out and play.

"Kiss me," BJ whispers. 

And Hawkeye does, even hitting lips by the third try. BJ's lips are dry. A little chapped, actually. Probably after they go to pound town he should remind him to drink more water in this climate. 

Hawkeye pushes his tongue against his lips, slips past the goalie only to find teeth blocking his path. Hard, and annoyingly closed. He pulls Bj in closer, and at last his mouth parts for Hawkeye's tongue. 

There. Tongue. All wet and a little muscley. He's actually kissing BJ. Beej. The man he's loved since Radar almost got ran over. Love at that first hit and run.

He runs his tongue over BJ's mouth, large and broad sweeps like he's been assigned to paint a barn by tongue alone. BJ moans and seems to melt into his arms. They're both on fire, melting like summer ice cream, running down each other's arms. He'll gladly lap it all up in time. 

His fingers fumble with BJ's belt as if they're made of jelly or the belt butter. He finally unhooks it, tosses it to the sides. Metal hits metal, half smacks his own thigh (he sort of likes this sting) but he's pushing BJ back onto the cot anyway.  
BJ groans and stops wriggling against Hawkeye like an excited snake.

"You okay?" Hawkeye asks. 

"There's a box in my back. "

Hawkeye pats around behind him. Sure enough, a tiny box. Hopefully, a tiny box with a condom because he's only half sure he's got one tucked away on him. He slips it to the floor and they wiggle back and no way this cot should hold two people, let alone two men over six feet. Their feet hang off, and he's got an arm on the bar, but the other is free to return to BJ's chest. 

BJ lays there for a moment. Sort of like a pillow. Soft, nice, but not good to fuck.

Then he moves, hands yanking at Hawkeye's shirt. It's sticky, clings to Hawkeye's ribs and his musty nibs. Hawkeye leans up, plants his legs on either side of BJ's hips and pulls the shirt free. The air feels nice, actually. His inner goddess was close to fainting with the heat.

BJ grunts, soft, sort of like a baby pig. 

He grinds his magic man wand into Hawkey's fleshy globes. Hawkeye groans in return. His groin aches and muscles in his stomach pull tighter and tighter until he has to bend over and kiss BJ again. He hits mouth first try and their hands are fumbling. Pants are pulled down, off. Their skin to skin, sliding across each other in a way that isn't sexy or comfortable, but Hawkeye can't begin to complain. Literally, BJ has his tongue in his mouth.

He shifts again, running his fingers over BJ's yogurt shotgun. BJ pushes up, and Hawkeye think's he'll never leave. He'll never run. Not from this man. Not from this love. Not this time. He licks his fingers (cause that's lube, right?) and runs them down to BJ's anal fortress.

He pushes slightly, and BJ groans, hips lifting off the bed. Hawkeye's inner goddess weeps with joy...until the cot breaks. They hit the ground, his finger trapped under BJ and very likely broken. They lie there panting, for all the wrong reasons. 

His leaking log loses all motivation and BJ's missile silo will have to wait for another day. 

They pull apart, a sickly suction noise filling the tent. God, he needs a shower. And hey, there's an idea. After his finger is set.

Clothes are pulled on, and he's heading for the door. BJ follows, and then he feels a tug on his shirt. Arms wrap around him, pull him in close. BJ doesn't miss, dry lips on his, soft and gentle.

"I'm keeping you," BJ whispers, against his lips. "I love you, Hawk."

And Hawkeye chokes on the word, and that sandwich is making a quick path down, but he smiles into the darkness.

"I love you BJ," he says, and BJ takes his slightly broken hand and they head out. 

Klinger claps quietly from the sidelines and the broken cot is gone by morning.


End file.
